


the finest words you ever said to me

by iphigenias



Category: Band of Brothers, The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Gene is a serial turtle rescuer, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 16:56:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5792530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphigenias/pseuds/iphigenias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His nose is red from his allergies and the sunburn across his pale cheeks has started to peel, but Gene looks at him in the flickering fluorescent kitchen light and thinks he’s even more beautiful like this: scarred and imperfect. </p><p>Gene looks away, and reminds himself that there’s a reason he collects broken things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the finest words you ever said to me

**Author's Note:**

> 2 hrs of sleep + playing with 4 week old kittens = this trash. i'm sorry
> 
> this is band of brothers + the pacific characters + one blink-and-you'll-miss-it gen kill reference. as usual, this is based upon the hbo portrayals of the men and no disrespect is intended towards the real guys. title is from "dead sea" by the lumineers

Snafu’s sick when Gene first brings him home. He hadn’t meant to adopt a turtle from the shelter that afternoon, but just before his shift had ended the little guy had been brought in with cloudy eyes and shell rot, and Gene couldn’t’ve in good conscience waited until morning to get him to a vet. So he’d taken the tank, taken the turtle, back home to his apartment block where pets are one hundred percent not allowed, and christened him Snafu. By the looks of the little soft-shell, he’s all fucked up indeed.

Gene spends that night researching turtle sicknesses, symptoms and solutions, and divides the rest of his week between class, shifts at the shelter and nursing Snafu back to health.

And that’s how it starts.

 

 

 

 

 

The next turtle he brings home is a soft-shell like Snafu, but with a missing hind leg. The vet he’d taken the poor guy to had said there was nothing to be done, and other than the missing limb he was as hale and hearty as any turtle. So Gene brought him home, because he thought Snafu could do with some company, and christened him Sledgehammer. (Gene’s always had strange taste in names.)

From there, the menagerie only grows. Gene doesn’t mean for it to happen, doesn’t go out looking to rescue household pets with the explicit intention of bringing them home—well, maybe once or twice—but soon a month, two months pass and Gene is the proud carer of three soft-shell turtles (Snafu, Sledge and Burgie, whom he nursed through his pneumonia), four dogs (Hoosier and Chuckler, scraggly  and crippled mixed-breed strays; Runner, a Japanese Spitz blind in one eye; and Lucky, the runt of his litter and born with stunted little limbs and a whole lot of energy), and one tomcat called Sid. One morning he sits at his kitchen table to read the newspaper and thinks about how a tropical fish tank would look real nice over there in that corner. The next day he brings home Stella, Vera, Lena and John, four bloodfin tetras Gene buys from the pet shop with his earnings from the past two weeks.

If he’s being honest, he kind of forgets the building has a no pets policy, maybe because it was so ridiculously easy to bring them inside in the first place. And for the next few months, he gets away with it, because nobody in the building blinks an eye at the mild-mannered and quiet vet science senior whose college is a few blocks away and who’s always willing to lend a spare cup of sugar to a neighbour in need.

Gene gets away with it, that is, until the rent goes up and he needs a roommate or he’ll lose the apartment completely.

Maybe that’s how it starts.

 

 

 

 

 

He’s introduced to Ralph Spina through the friend of a friend. The guy’s a nursing junior, keeps regular shift hours at the hospital and, most importantly, loves any and all animals. Gene meets him for coffee at the café down the road from the apartment, and breaks the news of his future living arrangements gently. All Ralph asks in response is when he can meet the pets. Gene beams into his caramel latte.

As Gene quickly discovers, however, Ralph moving in with him instantly expands Gene’s social circle tenfold. He’d only really been friends with Renee Lemaire, a fellow vet science major specialising in wild animals, and Tim Bryan, an acerbic and sharp-spoken pre-med student with whom Gene had shared a college dorm throughout freshman and sophomore years. With Ralph, however, comes a plethora of names and faces, far more than Gene has had to remember since the big family reunions that used to be held on the bayou way back when. With Ralph comes Bill and Julian and Edward-call-me-Babe, who Gene looks at and looks at again and then looks away from. With Bill comes Joe Toye and George Luz and Frances Peca, and with George comes Bull, Buck, Malarkey, Skip, Alex Penkala and Frank Perconte. Gene is sure there’s more faces, more names, but with his precious time stretched thin enough as it is, he thinks he can be forgiven for a lapse in memory once in a while. None of the boys seem to mind anyway, far more interested in Gene’s illicit animals than Gene himself.

None of the boys except Edward, that is, because as it turns out, Edward is allergic to almost everything.

“Would it kill ya to have a few less animals runnin’ around once in a while?” he asks Gene one day when he’s over, waiting for Ralph to come home from class even though the latter won’t be back for another hour at least. When Gene tells Edward this, the Philly boy gives him a strange, discerning look before shrugging and saying that he doesn’t mind the wait. He’s still looking at Gene with a gaze that feels heavy somehow, and Gene’s chest gives a low, hollow ache that he tells himself is just from his binder. He clears his throat and looks away.

“Where d’you want me to put ‘em? There ain’t that much room in a two-bedroom apartment.” Edward just shrugs.

“Why’d ya get ‘em all in the first place, then? If ya knew ya didn’t have the room.”

“I did have the room,” Gene says instantly, before falling silent and thinking about what to say. Edward waits for him to speak—like he always does, Gene thinks fondly. “I just—didn’t want ‘em to be alone.” He tilts his head like a question. “Is tha’ wrong?”

Edward gives him that piercing look again, and it feels as though strips are being torn from Gene’s heart. “I guess not,” he says finally, smiling. His nose is red from his allergies and the sunburn across his pale cheeks has started to peel, but Gene looks at him in the flickering fluorescent kitchen light and thinks he’s even more beautiful like this: scarred and imperfect.

Gene looks away, and reminds himself that there’s a reason he collects broken things.

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, nothing can last forever, especially not the presence of twelve animals in a pet-free apartment building. Gene’s not sure how or when the landlord finds out, but one day there’s a knock on the door and it’s not Edward like Gene was expecting and dressed up nice for.

They have until the end of the week before they’re evicted.

“M’sorry, Ralph,” Gene says miserably, packing up his vinyl into his Père’s old travelling case. “I shouldn’t’ve asked you t’move in with me, knowin’ I was breakin’ the rules like this.”

Ralph rolls his eyes. “Gene, there’s a sign on the front door of the building that says _no pets allowed._ I knew what I was getting myself into from day one, so don’t ya dare blame yourself.” He goes back to playing with Sid, the crotchety old cat who likes Ralph more than he likes Gene. _Traitor,_ Gene thinks idly, but hides a smile into his sweatshirt.

Moving out is the easy part. The animals are all pretty docile, and Gene’s never been one for hoarding. The problem is the fine he has to cough up to the landlord for breaking the rules, and the prospect of having to find a new pet-friendly apartment large enough to hold 12 animals and lax enough to rent out to a recently evicted tenant. The day before the eviction, Gene sits in his stripped-bare bedroom and quietly panics, because he knows that Ralph will have a place on any one of his numerous friend’s couches until he gets back on his feet, and will probably take Sid with him to boot, but Gene’s got more baggage than just animals to worry about and no idea what he’ll do come morning. Lucky wriggles up onto his lap and curls into himself, nubby legs digging softly into the fabric of Gene’s pyjamas. They fall asleep like that, the two of them, Gene leaning against the wall and Lucky a warm weight against his stomach.

Edward wakes them the next morning.

Gene shoves Lucky to the floor and draws his knees up to his chest, conscious of the fact that even though he’s wearing a sloppy sweater with too big sleeves and woollen paws, he’s not wearing his binder and none of the boys know except Ralph. To his credit, Edward’s eyes merely flicker downwards for a millisecond before settling on Gene’s face and warming him up from the inside out.

“Up ya get,” Edward says, hauling Gene to his feet and dusting off his shoulders absently. His hands linger a little too long on the fabric and Gene swallows. Edward’s eyes track the movement.

“Where we goin’?” Gene asks sleepily, rubbing his eyes as Edward leads him out of the apartment. He notes absently that all his luggage is gone, and so are all the pets except Lucky, who’s currently following at their heels. Gene scoops him up into his arms and yawns into the curls of his fur.

“Home,” Edward says simply, but Gene’s already forgotten what he asked. He feels dizzy and dreamlike, Lucky a featherweight in his arms, because surely Edward isn’t _really_ holding his hand, big and soft and warm and callused. Except that he is, and Gene feels warm like toast.

There’s an elevator ride and a car trip Gene doesn’t really remember. He thinks he dozes off. Next thing he knows he’s standing in an apartment, a familiar apartment, with his soft-shells and his fish and his puppies and his old tomcat all around him. Gene blinks the sleep from his eyes, lowers Lucky to the ground, and blinks again. “I don’—understand,” he says haltingly, turning to look at Edward. “This is _your_ apartment.”

“Yeah it is.” He looks nervous.

“But—” Gene looks around again. “I can’ stay here, you’re allergic!”

“It’s okay—”

Gene wrenches his hand out of Edward’s. “No, ‘s’not! Your nose has gone all red already and you’ve been here all of ten seconds and I can’ do that to you, Edward. I won’.”

“It’s okay,” he says again, softer, gently, and Gene doesn’t say a word. “I don’t care about the allergies, Gene. Not when it’s _you_.”

Gene isn’t wearing his binder, so he can’t blame it for the sudden pain in his chest or the sting of tears in his eyes. “I can’ do that to you, Babe,” he says, looking at the ground, at where Lucky has made a home between their mismatched pairs of feet.

“Good thing it’s my decision, then,” comes the light reply, and Gene looks up, ready with a retort on his lips, except Edward’s looking at him all soft and glowy, and his nose is as red as his hair, and Gene remembers bringing Snafu home from the shelter that very first day because he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him alone. When he looks at his animals, he sees something of himself in them—in their missing limbs and torn-up fur. When he looks at Edward (when he looks at Babe), he sees something different, something that’s still a part of him but not quite, almost like a possibility of what could be—if he only said yes.

Gene looks up, ready with a retort on his lips, but he gives a kiss instead.


End file.
